


We Can Dance Grandly, and No one Will See Us

by amycarey



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe, F/F, Fluff
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-03-26
Updated: 2014-03-26
Packaged: 2018-01-17 02:23:38
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,763
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1370413
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/amycarey/pseuds/amycarey
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Princess Emma doesn't enjoy the constant balls, but it all becomes so much more enjoyable when, hiding from a potential dance partner, she finds herself stumbling upon Lady Regina. </p><p>Alternate universe, set in the Enchanted Forest, where both Emma and Regina are the same age.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Can Dance Grandly, and No one Will See Us

**Author's Note:**

> Based on the following prompt by barbie-shoes (awesome prompt, I hope you enjoy!):
> 
>  
> 
> _Princess Emma and Young Regina meet at a ball in FTL. They are instantly smitten, sneak off together, and end up ruining both their gowns during sexy times._
> 
>  
> 
> Also, takes a great deal of inspiration, including the title, from 'Little Women'.

It’s not Emma’s first ball, though it’s close to it. It’s her fourth, or fifth if you count the time when she was sixteen and snuck into a masquerade her parents had held. Granny had caught her sneaking chocolate cake into the pocket of her best dress and she’d been sent to her room in disgrace. She’s been to enough now to know how they go. Hours of standing, smiling politely at boring men while they lead her around the dance floor and she tries desperately (and in vain) not to step on any toes, making stilted conversation with beautiful, regal women, having her cheeks pinched by old friends of her parents…

 

This time she’s decided it’s going to be different. She’s wearing a pale blue gown that her mother chose for her. Her mother cried when she saw her in it and Emma knows that every time she sees Emma in a ball gown instead of her usual tunic and breeches she’s imagining Emma’s wedding, that blissful day when Emma will find True Love and get married and start popping out grandchildren. It’s rather a lot of responsibility to place on the shoulders of one child, particularly on a child not that interested in men.

 

Across the ball room, a young man, startling red hair and bulgy eyes, catches her eye and Emma groans inwardly.

 

“Try and _look_ like you’re enjoying yourself at least,” Ruby, who’s basically her aunt, whispers to her as she dances past, Belle in her arms. Emma rolls her eyes and starts to sidestep around the room, matching the beat of the music until she reaches a hideaway behind some curtains that most people don’t notice and ducks into it.

 

She heaves an immense sigh of relief, peering through the curtains to see the ginger gentleman reach the spot, look around puzzled and continue on. The alcove is framed by cushioned seats and leads into a series of smaller rooms – rooms that Emma’s parents use as sitting rooms or places to play cards for the older ball goers as the evening draws late. “Peace at last,” she mutters and goes to sit down. However, instead of the soft cushions, she feels the bustle of skirts and bony knees beneath her.

 

“Hello.” It’s a girl, about her age, dark hair loose and curling around her shoulders. In the semi-darkness, Emma can see dark eyes glitter and lips curve.

 

“Oh,” Emma exclaims. “Sorry, I didn’t realise this was someone else’s hiding place. I’ll…”

 

But the girl clasps her wrist. “Stay. It would be nice to have some company.”

 

Nice isn’t how Emma would have put it. Nice isn’t plump kissable lips. Nice isn’t thick, long eyelashes. Nice isn’t round breasts curving out from a less than demure neckline. She realises she’s staring and is grateful for the shadows that will hopefully disguise the flush in her cheeks.

 

“What’s your name?” Emma asks, settling into the other seat across from the girl.

 

“Lady Regina,” she replies. “And you are?”

 

“Emma.”

 

“Oh!” There’s a gasp from Regina. “Your highness.”

 

Emma snorts. “Please don’t do that.”

 

“As you wish,” Regina says. “I enjoyed watching you dance away from the red-headed man. He looked like a grasshopper.”

 

Emma laughs. “Well, you know why I’m hiding,” she says. “How about you?”

 

Regina wrinkles her nose. “Avoiding my mother.”

 

“I hear that,” Emma says. She loves her mother but she’s insufferable at balls. There’s always people to whom Emma positively must be introduced and every man Emma dances with is a potential True Love. Given Emma’s pretty sure she’ll never be interested in a man that way, she doesn’t hold out a lot of hope for True Love.

 

“I’ve also been watching people,” Regina adds. “Who are the two women dancing together?”

 

“Ruby and Belle,” Emma says. “They’re friends of my mother. Ruby’s basically my aunt.”

 

“They’re beautiful.”

 

Emma supposes they are. She’s never thought of them that way. Ruby’s old, her mother’s age and there are streaks of grey in her dark hair, and Belle has grown stout, though her smile is kind and her skin is still smooth and pale. “They’re lovers,” she informs Regina, wanting, bizarrely, absurdly, to know how Regina feels about this.

 

“I thought they might be,” Regina says and there’s no judgment in her voice.

 

“Do _you_ want to dance?” Emma asks. “I always liked practising dancing with my friends more than with men.”

 

Regina smiles. “I’d love to.”

 

Emma grabs her hand and they exit into one of the sitting rooms. Now that they’re in the light, Emma can see Regina’s dress, pale gauzy fabric, the skirts wider than Emma’s own and her shoulders bare. Regina’s skin is olive, though pink stains her cheeks. The music is still loud enough and Emma bows low, taking the man’s role. Regina curtseys and they spin around the room, Regina laughing when Emma steers her into furniture. Soon they’ve both kicked off their high heeled shoes and are attempting a quick step dance, which leaves both out of breath, mostly with giggling.

 

Emma collapses on a sofa with an undignified huff of air. She looks up at Regina, still standing, whose face is shining with merriment. “When I am queen,” Emma says with an air of absolute certainty, “I will ban corsets.”

 

Regina laughs, the sound deep and husky and indisputably beautiful. And Emma’s pretty sure that in that moment, she falls in something like love.

 

*

 

She doesn’t see Regina at her sixth ball, honouring the son of King Eric and his queen, Ariel. At the seventh held at some Northern palace, Emma is escorted everywhere by her father, barely leaving her side. Something to do with assassination attempts, an unfriendly court. She meets Regina’s eye on the dance floor, both held by men and Emma pulls a face, enjoying watching Regina attempt to hide her laughter.

 

The eighth is held at the Summer Palace and Regina is there, looking beautiful and serene in pale blue. Emma dances with one of the lords and then excuses herself, feigning a need for refreshments. She grabs two strawberry ices and sneaks out of the ballroom, looking back once and catching Regina’s eye.

 

Regina follows her moments later and Emma pulls her behind a suit of armour. “Hidden passage,” she mutters, handing her one of the ices.

 

“I could be missing out on meeting my future husband,” Regina informs her, haughty.

 

“I’ve missed you too,” Emma says, leading her down the passage. They exit in the library, which backs onto the ballroom and the music filters in from next door. It’s an unfamiliar tune and Emma digs into her ice, strawberry cream melting down her wrist in her haste to finish it. Regina eats much more carefully, taking delicate portions and there’s something almost sinful about the way she licks the spoon, tongue caressing the metal.

 

The band strikes up a waltz and Emma bows. Regina extends her hand and they dance. It’s different from last time, Emma’s intensely aware of the body pressed against hers, the warmth of Regina’s hands and the warm breath on her neck. “How have you been?” Emma asks.

 

“I’ve missed you,” Regina says. “It’s ridiculous, I know, but I have.” There’s a scar above Regina’s lip and Emma wants to kiss it, but manages to fight the desire.

 

What she’s not expecting is for Regina to kiss her first, lips soft and warm against Emma’s own. They’re neither of them very experienced but it doesn’t take much before Emma’s pressing back more firmly, winding her arms around Regina’s neck.

 

And then Regina’s hands are in her hair, pulling it from its elaborate styling, the hideous tiara that pinches Emma’s head pulled out and thrown onto an arm chair, the pins scattered across the carpet. Regina backs her against a bookshelf, which rattles, books threatening to fall, and Emma’s too lost in the sensation of Regina’s mouth against hers to care.

 

They break apart and Emma takes a deep, gasping breath. “Wow,” she says.

 

Regina looks altogether too pleased with herself and Emma wants to see her ruffled so she pulls her close again, kissing along her jaw line, down her neck, placing soft kisses at the top of her breasts. The gasp that Regina emits is really gratifying and then Regina stumbles forward, still in her high heeled shoes and they fall to the ground, poufy skirts cushioning their fall.

 

They lie there for a moment, Regina’s body pressed against Emma’s. “You’ll tell me if this isn’t okay,” Emma says and Regina nods. Emma flips her onto her back, pushes at the layers of fabric of her skirts, hands snagging in the netting and ripping it and then skating up her silky legs, higher and higher until Regina shudders, bucking forward against Emma. So Emma touches her again and again, soft touches the way she touches herself, fingers gliding through wetness, smooth circles and then firmer, harder, until Regina cries out and falls limp, beads of sweat collecting on her forehead and lips etched into a vacant smile.

 

“Thank you, your highness,” Regina says when she gets her breath back and Emma growls a little, low in her throat, and Regina’s hands are everywhere, ripping at the laces in Emma’s corset and Emma hears the tear of fabric and finds she doesn’t care much, not when Regina’s hands and tongue are on her bare breasts, sucking and kissing and biting.

 

Images flash through Emma’s mind, a desire to see Regina naked, splayed out across silken sheets, a desire to worship every part of her body with her fingers and tongue, a desire to hold her all night, waking up tangled together… But when Regina slides one finger, and then a second, inside her she doesn’t think anything at all, just convulses and cries out once.

 

They lie side by side, hands still trailing each other’s bodies. Emma knows she should be concerned about the torn fabric in her skirt (she’ll tell her parents she fell, they expect it from her), the hair falling loose and haphazardly, knows she should be worried about the significance of this moment, the consequences should they be caught, but she can’t.

 

“You’re beautiful,” she murmurs and Regina turns to her and smiles.

 

“You’re obnoxious,” she says and Emma leans over and kisses the smirk from her lips.

 

*

 

At Emma’s ninth ball, she plucks up the courage to ask Regina to dance in the ball room in front of everyone and thinks to herself that she’s pretty sure she never wants the moment to end.


End file.
